


Kudos for a job well done

by basaltgrrl



Category: Life on Mars (UK)
Genre: Boys Kissing, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-03
Updated: 2013-02-03
Packaged: 2017-11-28 03:02:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/669531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/basaltgrrl/pseuds/basaltgrrl





	Kudos for a job well done

It wasn't the thing Gene was doing, so much, as where he was doing it.

But--yes, it was unexpected. Sam had gone still when Gene's hand landed on his knee, still and waiting to see what came next, all fight-or-flight in the confines of the Cortina, half of his mind wondering why there hadn't been an in-car punch-up yet, before this fraught moment, the other half wondering if the door was locked to prevent his escape, if Gene's apparent satisfaction with the resolution of the case was a front, if he had driven down this little-used alley in order to more easily dispose of Sam's body.

"I'm only going to say this once, Tyler, so make a note of it for your own personal records. You did a bastard fine job today and I'm so pleased I just might kiss you."

"Um--" So, yeah, the satisfaction was real. The contentment. Expansiveness, as if Gene could take up one-and-a-half or twice as much space just because he was relaxed and happy enough to do so, in the same way but in a different form from his oversized anger, a big man becoming bigger with rage, able to toss smaller blokes around with his fingertips.

But Sam couldn't take that sentence seriously. And the hand on the knee, that was hardly different from the up-close-and-personal animosity, the looming so close that Sam could smell his cologne, his cigarettes, his whisky, the orange marmalade from breakfast, the hearty claps on the back and the firm, guiding hand when he wanted a fellow to walk one way and not the other. Gene touched people; that was a fact. It meant nothing more than "you're my colleague, and I feel free to assault you as needed, in order to guide you to a more efficient working relationship". For all that it was frequent and well-nigh intimate, there was an indifference in its universality. Sam had seen him toss Geoff through the door of the loo, or Chris out of the Cortina when he was about to lose his lunch.

So, the hand. Squeezing a little. Sliding slightly higher on Sam's corduroy-covered thigh. The gaze, direct, too close for a normal man's sense of personal space--but that was nothing new, was it. Sam hadn't met the gaze yet--well, not in this conversation, this afternoon, truth was he had met the gaze on his first day in CID and knew it far too intimately, knew exactly the sort of green-eyed squint he'd be staring into if he raised his head and turned his chin in Gene's direction. 

It was that this was taking place in the Cortina, at the arse end of a scummy alley; that's what had him flustered. Sam could feel his own heart thudding in his ears, practically making his whole body vibrate--christ if Gene couldn't feel it right through the contact of his hand on Sam's knee. It was--that there was nowhere to run, nowhere to retreat to. All those times when Gene had his belly up against the buttons of Sam's shirt, in the corridor at work or in the doorway to his office--at least Sam always had the option of taking a step back, even if he was damned if he would. Not here, not now, with the lap belt still fastened and some grotty boxes rubbing shoulders with the passenger-side Cortina door.

He was as trapped in the Cortina as he ever was in 1973.

"Guv," he began through dry lips, "can we do this somewhere else?"

"You what?"

"Just--drive, please."

"You hate my driving."

"Since when has that stopped you?"

And then Gene leaned even closer, even further into Sam's envelope of breathable air, and his hand on Sam's knee pressed down, burned into Sam right through the layer of fabric. "Seriously, Sammy-boy..."

"Oh Christ!" Sam gulped air, shifted his shoulders and set his own hand down on top of Gene's as if he had the power to push it away. How strange, to be drowning in a stationary car, but there was a really distant, echoey beeping noise in his ears and there really was blackness around the edges of his vision. Why the hell would he faint away in the Cortina?

"Oi! Sam!" A light slap against the side of his face, gentle, really, and Sam blinked into those green eyes. Not narrowed. But the brow was furrowed. He was concerned. "Earth to Sammy! What the bleeping hell? You're not usually so averse to a kind word."

"A... kind word?"

"You did well, this morning. So well, I wanted to--" he trailed off, staring searchingly. "Just--surprised me, is all. That. You."

It seemed to be Gene's turn to not have enough air, his brain stuttering, words failing him.

"Why you have to take me down a dark alley in order to give me a happy pat on the back, I just don't know."

"Christ, trust you to turn this into something it's not. I didn't--I mean, I wanted some privacy for--oh, bleeding hell." He stopped, heaving a huge breath and planting his hands on his thighs as if bracing himself for a major revelation.

"Privacy?"

"Didn't want to do this in front of the whole team, is all."

"This?"

And then Gene was in his personal space in such a rush that there was no time for a step back, for a retreat, just an invasion of smoke/whisky/bacon buttie, green eyes, the brush of stubble, a surprisingly light touch of lips along with the grip of iron fingers on the back of Sam's neck. 

"Good work, Sammy-boy. Kudos, and all that."

"Thanks," Sam responded, lips still tingling from that brief contact. "This is what you wanted to do, here?"

"Yeah."

"You--you know, I didn't think you meant that thing about the kiss."

"I did."

"Well." He sat for a moment, breathing. Yes, there was enough space for that, and enough air; Gene no longer seemed to be absorbing it all into his formidable presence. It changed everything, didn't it? No longer about where, but about what, about the fact that he had done that.

"How was it? Never again? Once a week? Peck on the cheek when we say goodbye?" Gene's words seemed flippant, but his manner wasn't; his fingers were tapping the wheel, jaw thrust forward anxiously--oh, it could have been frustration or anger, but Sam read anxiety in the subtle signs. A hint of sweat. A twitching muscle.

"I need another sample before I can decide." Sam smiled to send extra encouragement Gene's way, then leaned forward invitingly. It seemed important to let Gene make the move. It seemed mad, but a great kind of madness. Had he ever imagined this kind of relationship? Did he even know what he was looking for? It didn't seem to matter as Gene's hand came up to cup his face, lips pressed soft to his, eyelashes fluttering closed. 

As surreal as the entire rest of the day, the sensations were every bit as bizarrely unexpected as the scenario, but not unwelcome Sam had to admit as lips crushed his, a hand ruffled across his hair. "We'll do this again, then," he said experimentally after the kiss had ended and they were each back on their own side of the car.

"Yes. Do a good enough job and I may have to give you kudos every day."

"I'd like that."


End file.
